


Bowed

by sarapunzel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Shower Sex, bowleg kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:40:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarapunzel/pseuds/sarapunzel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel is really, really into Dean's bowlegs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bowed

Castiel was no stranger to the sensation of doubt. His faith had been tested innumerable times, and he’d been tempted into traitorous dealings more often than he cared to admit. It wasn’t always easy to believe in a God, a Father, who would not show His face. Cas had been on Earth long enough to observe its darkness, its injustices, its cruelty. Humanity was frail and ugly. At times, Castiel found it difficult to accept that these flimsy constructs of mush and thin bones were to be heralded as God’s finest masterpieces.

But there was one particular human even Castiel could deem worthy of the title. Dean Winchester was truly beautiful.

Cas had known some flicker of his beauty long before he’d actually laid eyes on him. Dean’s soul had cried out to him in Hell, and when Castiel’s Grace answered back, Dean had glowed with purpose, with undeniable goodness. His soul had shone like a flame in the ashes, the vibrant, impossible bloom among wilted weeds. Dean had been gorgeous even before Cas put his physical pieces back together.

Even now, years later, there were times when Castiel would glance across the kitchen and become instantly entranced by the way the sunshine played along the outline of Dean’s profile as he washed dishes. Cas would never tire of drawing constellations between the freckles across Dean’s nose and shoulders with a finger. Castiel did not sleep, not really, and so he did not dream, but he supposed that if he did, they would be filled with images of Dean smiling, Dean laughing, Dean raking calloused fingers back through his hair. Yes, Dean Winchester was perfect, from his absurdly green eyes to his unexpectedly delicate feet.

If Cas lived forever, he believed he would still never pass a single day without discovering another aspect of Dean to admire, Lately, Castiel had found himself fixating on a very specific part of the Righteous Man’s body: his legs.  
 

“You walk like a damn cowboy,” Sam had teased one night as the three of them sat on the front porch drinking beers. “I bet your knees have to send each other postcards to coordinate your steps since they obviously never meet.”

Dean had rolled his eyes and crossed his legs self-consciously, with a snappy, “Shut up.” But Cas hadn’t stopped thinking about it since then. It was all his brain seemed capable of focusing on: Dean with his bowlegged swagger, Dean with his feet set wide apart as he sat on the couch watching television, Dean with his knees hooked around Castiel’s waist…

Needless to say, Cas had been antsy nearly all the time since that night. He wasn’t exactly human yet, but his Grace was considerably weakened, distant. So his mortal urges for intimacy had become much more insistent in the past year. He began to take long showers at night while Dean slept not ten feet away, his legs curved into a V-shape under the sheets. Cas stood under the streaming water for up to an hour and a half, eyes shut as he stroked himself slowly, deliciously. He fantasized about kissing flushed little blooms into Dean’s thighs, biting at the backs of his knees, tracing fingers down the bend of his legs. Cas would bite the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning as he streaked the shower wall with come. He’d sink to the wet floor, let the steam make him drowsy as his dick softened and his toes pruned.

For a week this went on, and Cas looked forward to the ritual with a near-obsessive anxiety, hungrily devouring every sight of Dean and his legs during the day, saving each mental snapshot for later. One night, Dean called to tell Castiel that he and Sam had gotten tied up in a case and that he’d be home late. Cas was disappointed, but he decided that Dean’s absence was no obstacle; his nightly routine could continue. He took his time, savoring the sensation of the water sliding down his forehead, over his nipples, pooling in his navel. He recalled Dean bent across the hood of the Impala earlier that day, his bowed legs wide apart as he reached to wipe the windshield. Cas inhaled deeply, his hand wandering to tease the slit of his cock. He leaned into the shower wall, imagining Dean on his knees, sucking him off with an expert tongue. Castiel was so enthralled with his fantasy that he didn’t hear a door thump shut across the house; he didn’t catch the footsteps in the hallway. It wasn’t until the bathroom door squeaked open and the hulking silhouette of Dean Winchester slipped through that Cas broke from his reverie. He let out a startled gasp and heard Dean snort.

“Hope there’s hot water left ‘cause I’m covered in mud and I’m comin’ in,” he said gruffly, and the shower curtain parted. Dean slipped into the shower behind Castiel, who was trying in vain to hide his erection. The hunter sighed happily, the hot water washing clean streaks down his chest and back. He tilted his head back to let the stream course over his face. Cas couldn’t help himself; he turned to glance back at Dean. He took in the sight of mud mingling with water in lines down the hunter’s thighs and whimpered softly. Dean chuckled.

“Yeah, that’s the last time I follow a shifter into a damn swamp,” he said, massaging soap into his hair. Sudsy slick, he leaned forward just enough for his knees, hips, and half-hard dick to brush against Castiel. The angel gasped again and instinctively rocked back into the pressure.

“Shit, Cas. You’re really askin’ for it, aren’t you?” Dean teased, but his voice was low and coarse. Castiel’s cock twitched longingly.

“Yes,” the angel replied simply. He shuffled backward just a couple of inches, far enough to feel that Dean was now fully erect and temptingly warm. Cas felt the hunter shift, and he looked back to see Dean bent over, snatching up the little bottle of lube sitting just outside the shower. Castiel’s cock ached. Half a minute later, the angel shivered as Dean pressed a slippery fingertip to his hole.

“I bet you were thinking about this before I got here,” Dean growled, his lips so close to Cas’s ear he could feel the hunter’s breath coming in hot little puffs.

“I was,” Cas admitted softly. The hunter nodded against the flesh between Castiel’s shoulder blades and pushed his finger inside. “Ohh, please,” Cas begged, his voice breathy and ragged.

“You want me to fold you over and fuck you, Angel?” Dean mumbled, his lips sucking circles at the nape of Castiel’s neck while he pushed a second finger into his ass.

Cas moaned, “Yes, yes,” and felt the head of Dean’s cock breach his tight asshole. The hunter’s hand tightened on Cas’s shoulders, pushing him down. Cas braced himself against the shower bar and rolled his hips back just as Dean pressed forward, bottoming out with a shudder.

“Dean,” the angel mumbled, torn between jolts of bliss and pulsing pain. He was answered with a slow, burning thrust; one of Dean’s palms glided over the notch of Castiel’s hip to cup his ass, spreading him open. Cas muttered something in the general ballpark of ‘please’, and cocked his hips aggressively. Dean responded with a wet slap to the angel’s ass and a throaty grunt. He was pressed entirely into Cas, hot and tight and too good to savor. He began to set a pace of quick, sharp shoves, crooking his knees to find that magic angle. Cas spluttered helplessly, clinging to the shower bar with white knuckles and red palms, struggling against gravity as Dean pushed into him relentlessly.

“Fuck, you feel so good, Cas,” Dean groaned, the rhythm of his hips jarring his words. “Gonna come soon, Angel. Gonna fill you up so fucking good.”

Cas felt the hunter’s thrusts become frenzied, rough fingertips carving into his ass, his hipbones, his ribs. Then Dean’s fingers closed around the angel’s cock, sliding at a complementary pace; Cas glanced back just as Dean shuffled forward, legs bowed so that his knees locked around the angel’s legs, and Castiel came. He cried out and spilled over Dean’s fist; the hunter gave one last push and then shouted, “Aghhh, _Cas_!” and emptied himself inside Castiel.

The pair of them shuddered to the floor and drew their legs up, pressed up against opposite walls, the water falling between them. Dean rubbed his knees absently, grinning at Cas through the cooling stream. “We should make this kind of a regular thing,” he said. “Well, not too regular. That’s a lot of water.”

Cas smiled and wriggled through the water to settle against Dean’s chest. Massaging circles into the hunter’s knees, he could only imagine how significantly Dean’s presence would improve his nightly ritual. He couldn’t wait to do it again.


End file.
